


Send Me an Angel

by DinoDNA



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Dean Winchester, Amputee Castiel (Supernatural), Doctor Sam Winchester, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Priest Dean Winchester, Priest Kink, Religion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinoDNA/pseuds/DinoDNA
Summary: EDIT:  This is currently being rewritten as the plot wasn't taking me anywhere I wanted to go!  Stay tuned!Castiel is new to the coastal town of New Haven, CT.  He had moved there for some peace and quiet following his tours in Iraq, and for a chance to get to know his brother better.  But, within weeks of moving a tragedy upends the whole town.  Castiel will seek out the comfort of his local church and the handsome young priest that preaches there.  The priest, Dean, has his own tragedies he's hoping to ignore.  But, maybe together, the two men can heal their scars, both physical and mental.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! It's been a long time! I've finally gotten myself to a place where I feel like writing again, let's see how it turns out. This is a new fic and I'll be honest that I have 2 others started and some time stamps in the works for a couple of previous pieces. Updates won't be super consistent but I'll do what I can. This is marked as mature now, but rating may go up as the story progresses.
> 
> Second chapter will be up soon!

“Remember the passage in Psalms, “The Lord is near to those who are discouraged, he saves those who have lost all hope.” Our Lord is kind and just, He does not take without purpose. Our time seems bleak now, but remember those we have lost will be awaiting us in the Kingdom of Heaven. All of their sorrow and pain has ended and they live in blissful eternity now.” The young priest paused here, seeming to collect himself. The service was the first after the accident and it was a painful reminder to the faithful that there were many missing among their ranks. The priest raised his eyes to look out across the sea of faces, very few had dry eyes, and even he seemed to have moisture in the corners of his own eyes.

“Our souls are weary with sorrow, but God will strengthen us according to the Word.” He concluded.

Castiel sat stoically, his face impassive as he tried to let the words of the service wash over him. The taste of Communion sat heavily in his mouth. He swallowed compulsively a couple of times, trying to ease the discomfort in his throat.

The priest again looked over at the crowd, prepared to conclude the service. “The Lord be with you.” He stated simply.

The congregation answered as one, “And also with you.”

“Please, bow your heads and pray for God's blessing.”

Castiel looked around him at the heads that fell forward. The eyes of everyone were squeezed tightly shut, he knew they were all praying for strength in that moment. He looked back up at the priest briefly before lowering his own head for a quick prayer.

The priest intoned deeply, “May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen.” The group said solemnly as one.

“Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”

There was a half-hearted response from the assembled group, “Thanks be to God!”

The people that were gathered began to rise slowly. The weight of their grief seemed to be a physical presence holding them down and adding tension to their backs. Castiel watched them go sadly. His own pain still seemed dulled, he knew that he hadn’t had to face the full force of it yet and he shuddered to think of when that time would come. Most of his fellow parishioners exited to the back of the small church. Some stayed behind to speak with the priest. He watched them interact with him curiously.

He liked the priest, Dean. He had a gentle demeanor and a warmth to his smile that put most at ease quickly. There was a small line between his brows now as he spoke with a small weathered woman, who looked as if she herself had been blown about by the mighty winds of the sea outside of the doors to the church. Dean was slumped in on himself, trying to appear smaller so as to not be intimidating to the poor woman with tears flowing freely down her cheeks. 

He couldn’t make out the words they were saying, they were hushed in reverence and in sadness. He could easily guess what was being spoken however. There was hardly any other talk in the town now. The shipwreck off the coast had claimed the lives of 15 of the town's men. Husbands, fathers, sons, none had been spared from the wave that had come from seemingly nowhere to capsize the ship carrying them home. Every soul in the town had been affected by the loss, and a feeling of sorrow so thick it felt like a physical presence in the air had settled around the small Connecticut town.

His attention was drawn again by the priest and his grieving flock. The quiet cries of a young girl could be heard as she grabbed tightly to her mother’s skirts. The mother was trying to speak calmly to the man before her but her hands were shaking so badly that it looked as if he was going to fall to pieces at any moment. Castiel felt his eyes tighten in sympathy. He felt for every one of his brothers and sisters who were falling apart in this place. He felt the most for poor Dean though. He hadn’t lost anyone in the shipwreck, that he knew of, but he had become the rock for the entire town. All eyes had turned to him in the aftermath and he had taken on the responsibility without a single protest or complaint. He was easy to confide in, he possessed a natural strength, a sturdy build and strong heart.

Castiel rolled his shoulders gently, he had been carrying his stress in them, he knew. They were tight and painful almost constantly now. He frequently caught himself with his shoulders pulled up tightly towards his ears and had to remind himself to relax them every few hours. He had noticed that that seemed to be a problem for Dean as well. He exuded a quiet confidence to the rest of the parishioners but Castiel was sure he saw the tight lines and occasional shaking hands that belied a nervous anxiety. He had taken on too much, he was sure of it. But, the priest refused to share the burden. 

Castiel sat quietly in contemplation for another thirty minutes. He wasn’t sure what it was that he was doing here. He’d been feeling lonely as of late, perhaps he had just wanted some company. He was certain that his faith in the Lord was a faint ember now, nothing in comparison to the roaring inferno it had been when he was a young man. But, things were much different then. 

His reverie was broken when a warm presence seated itself to his right. He glanced beside him briefly and felt himself relax minimally when he saw the straight line of Dean’s profile next to him. He must have missed the end of Dean’s conversation with the bereaved mother. He was seated a safe distance from Castiel, not crowding into his space but close enough that it was intentional that he was there. Castiel wondered again at the sight of the large scar that snaked across the priest’s nose and down his cheek but he was too polite to ask after it. He was curious, but it was none of his business. Dean’s eyes were trained forward to the large, wooden crucifix at the front of the church. Castiel followed his gaze and inspected the crucifix himself. The two sat in silence for a few minutes before Castiel spoke up.

“That was a very nice service, Father.”

Dean bobbed his head once to indicate he had heard, but still his eyes remained on the crucifix. Silence covered them again and Castiel looked down at his hands clasped in his lap. Finally, after another few minutes Dean spoke.

“Tell me…” he began quietly, “are you having nightmares?” His green eyes turned to him then and there was a haunted quality to them that Castiel had never seen before. He was taken aback for a moment, forgetting the question at the obvious pain he saw staring back at him. 

He blinked a couple of times to rid himself of the chill that had crept up his neck at the words. “I...I have not.” He answered haltingly. Truthfully, he had been waiting for the nightmares, but they had yet to come. He guessed his mind was still in shock, and he was terrified of when the realization would finally sink in.

Dean nodded to him slowly. “It’s only been a week… When.. When they do start, please know I’m here to listen. And if you’re uncomfortable speaking with me,” he looked down at his hands and then gestured around himself with a hand, “God and his angels are always willing to take your burdens.”

Castiel smiled tightly at him in response. Yes, it had only been a week since the accident. But, Dean spoke with such conviction that the nightmares were coming that it made him briefly consider what horrors lay in the other man’s past. He didn’t know much about him yet, having only met him a few weeks ago. He steeled himself briefly before he reached out a hand cautiously and laid it on Dean’s forearm. He looked surprised at the contact, his eyes seemingly laser-focused on Castiel’s broad fingers. 

“The town is lucky to have you here, Father. You’ve been a great comfort to many and your strength is helping to hold us all together.” He squeezed his arm comfortingly before removing his hand and placing it back in his lap. His stomach rolled uncomfortably at the heat on his fingertips from the brief contact and he took a deep inhale to calm himself. He knew that he was attracted to the priest, and touching the other man was definitely on the NO list. He couldn’t help himself in the moment though, it was a friendly gesture after all.

Dean continued to look at the place where his hand had been for another few seconds. When he lifted his eyes to Castiel again, they had lost the edge they had held earlier and were back to being warm and inviting. “Thank...thank you, Castiel.” He said simply. 

He stood slowly then and turned towards him before saying, “If you’ll excuse me I have a number of c-counseling sessions to prepare for.” He gave Castiel a sad smile before excusing himself towards the front of the church and into an adjacent door. Castiel assumed his offices were in that direction.

He glanced briefly back at the wooden crucifix in front of him and nodded his head in acknowledgment. He stood and winced slightly at the pressure of his prosthetic against his knee, it had been three years and he still forgot it was there most of the time. He straightened himself and made his way out of the back of the church and into the quiet hush of the coastal morning. 

It was early April and the weather was brisk at this time of the day. Castiel wrapped his arms tighter around himself to try and ward off the chill. It might have been his imagination but the weather had felt colder recently, with more fog rolling off the ocean than usual. The church was a few miles from the shoreline and he couldn’t hear the persistent sounds of the waves against the sand from here. He was glad for it, the sound had started to agitate him as of late.

He had moved here from New York a few months ago. His therapist had told him that it would be good to get out of the city for a while, get more in touch with nature, be closer to his family. It had been a good idea in theory, and honestly may have worked if it hadn’t been for… the accident. It was 2020, for God’s sake! Boats didn’t just sink anymore!

He sighed and rubbed a hand over the back of his head. But, apparently man was no more capable of controlling the sea now than it ever had been. The Lacey, a fishing boat that carried around 15 of the town’s working aged men, had been hit by a rogue wave a week ago. Her entire crew had been lost, and only small pieces of the wreckage had come ashore in that time. 

The dull sounds of the ocean finally reached his ears as he crossed a wide street and he paused briefly to listen to it. He had found the noise soothing when he had first moved here, a constant companion to his thoughts. It was leaps and bounds different from the cacophony that was New York. Now though, it only served to remind her what the sea had taken from him. As if it were constantly in the back of his mind, teasing and mocking him. He tilted his chin down and continued walking. 

His brother, Gadreel, had been among those on the Lacey. He had always been a quiet and stoic man, firm in his beliefs and unwavering in his Faith. He and Castiel had very rarely seen eye to eye. As such, they had never been particularly close. He wasn’t feeling Gadreel’s loss in quite the acute way that the other members of the town did, but he was aware of the lack of the man’s presence. He supposed the tears would come, they just weren’t there yet.

He made it to his small two-bedroom house near the beach a short time later. He was glad that the walk wasn’t a long one, his knee was causing him more pain today than usual. Something about the weather here exacerbated the arthritis in the joint, not to mention the loads of scar tissue that wrapped around what was left of the limb. 

It was still early, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He made his way up his steps slowly and unlocked the cheerfully yellow front door. Maybe he could just sit and watch Food Network. His brain wasn’t up for higher level processing today. He had work tomorrow and wished he had the energy to finish his laundry today, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. _Food Network it is._ He thought listlessly.

XXX

Castiel pulled the corner of his patchwork quilt away from the mattress and settled himself down onto it. The bed felt damp as he scooted under the quilt. Everything felt damp here, just another perk of living seaside, he thought sarcastically. He smoothed his hands over the fabric and felt the small frayed edges that were forming. His mother had made this quilt for him years ago and he refused to use any other blanket to sleep under. He smiled softly at the memory of his mother’s warm smile as she had gifted the quilt to him by wrapping it around his shoulders and bundling him up against her chest. 

His dreams that night were a confusing jumble of blues, reds and violence. Haunted screams filled his ears as he tossed and turned all night. Desperate pleas for help from the swirling sea went unanswered as he tried in vain to reach for the voices.

Castiel woke groggily to the sounds of his alarm screeching in his ear. He blinked sleep from his eyes as he tried to mute the noise with fumbling fingers. He hated that fucking alarm, but that was exactly the reason he kept it, because it made sure he got his ass up. He lurched his way to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. This was the worst part of the entire morning, leaving the warm confines of his bed. He blew out a breath and rubbed his knuckles against his closed eyes. He had slept like shit… He looked at his bedside table and frowned. He had forgotten to take his melatonin, that would explain it.

He stretched his legs out in front of him and rolled his one ankle in a few slow circles. He had lost the lower half of his right leg in the Middle East three years ago, he was mostly used to it now, though learning to walk again had been a fucking nightmare. He ran a hand roughly over the scarred and warped skin just below his knee. It always felt tight in the morning but he supposed that he could be thankful that he still had the joint at all. 

He pulled a sleeve over the limb, then an additional pad for comfort before slipping on his daily prosthetic. He hated wearing it, but it beat having to hop around his house like a lunatic. Now that he was living so close to the sea, he supposed his sour attitude and missing leg made him the pirate he had always wanted to be as a little boy. He rolled his eyes at himself, he was being dramatic this morning. 

He made his way slowly into his kitchen and immediately regretted not putting on a shirt before leaving his bedroom. The house was absolutely frigid! He knew that the damn heating and air guy that had come last month had just blown him off. He had an ancient radiator system in the house and had wanted to upgrade it, but he didn’t have the funds at the moment. So, he had to keep calling in repair men because the damn thing broke all the time. Looks like it was about time for another call. He needed to just find a mechanic to date then he could stop paying all of this money for half-assed work. 

He started his coffee to brew before wandering back to his bedroom for a sweater. He refused to put on pants yet, regardless of how cold he was. He was strictly a shirt and underwear man when at home and would only wear pants when necessary. The sweater he grabbed was well-loved and fraying at the hem but he refused to part with it. It had been a gift from an old boyfriend and while their relationship may have fizzled, the man had had excellent taste in outerwear. 

Castiel poured himself a cup of coffee and added both cream and sugar. Most mornings he liked a cup of fruit tea, but he was still dragging today and needed the extra kick in the ass that coffee could provide. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t supposed to have caffeine, it had a tendency to give him panic attacks. But, sometimes the risk was worth it, and this morning, it was definitely worth it. 

Castiel moved to stand in front of the window in his living room that faced the ocean. He couldn’t believe he’d been able to get the place at the time, considering that ocean front property was so expensive. But, the company he’d purchased it from gave preference to veterans and considering all the issues the house now had, he figured they were probably glad to be rid of it. He watched the waves for a few minutes when he noticed a figure pick it’s way slowly across the shore. The man was walking towards him with a steady gait, his head turning occasionally to watch the sea beside him. Castiel turned his head curiously as the man paused in his walking to turn more fully towards the ocean. He stood there for a minute, his hands in his pockets, before resuming his walk down the beach. As he neared the house he recognized the black clothes and white collar of the priest, Dean.

Maybe Castiel hadn’t been the only one to sleep poorly last night.

XXX


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey there! It’s Castiel isn’t it?” A kind voice spoke behind him.

Castiel turned his head and was immediately confronted with a broad chest. He blinked in surprise before his gaze traveled upwards to meet the eyes of the VERY tall man that had addressed him.

“Y-yes, it is. I mean, I am.” He replied after too long a pause. 

He was awkwardly juggling several items that he had just picked off the shelves of the grocery store and was taken off guard by this stranger’s question. The man looked familiar, but he couldn’t place him. That wasn’t a shock though, he was terrible with names and faces. 

The tall man finally seemed to realize that Castiel was struggling and he smiled kindly before nodding to him in greeting. “I’m Sam Winchester. I was… a friend of your brothers. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Recognition flared through Castiel. Sam Winchester or Dr. Winchester and brother of Father Winchester, Dean. He hadn’t ever met the man, but he knew of him by reputation. He was well-respected in town, both because of his relationship with Dean and because he was the only psychiatrist in the area. Castiel had been encouraged by Gadreel to make an appointment with the man, he just hadn’t ever gotten around to it.

Remembering his manners, Castiel smiled politely and attempted to offer a hand to shake. Sam waved him off kindly and Castiel settled his items a little more snuggly in his arms. “Of course, Dr. Winchester, it’s a pleasure to formally meet you.”

The tall man chuckled gently before waving him off. “It’s Sam, please. I’ve been meaning to talk to you after Mass but something always seems to come up. I’m sorry about that.”

Castiel shrugged awkwardly and smiled crookedly at Sam. He was terrible at small talk and wasn’t quite sure where to go from here. 

“Dean mentioned you were the strong, silent type. I figured he was just being a flirt about it, but it seems like he was being serious. Don’t worry, I won’t press you or take any more of your time.” He gestured to an open lane at the self checkout. “I just wanted to let you know that you’re more than welcome to speak with me if you ever need to. At my office or otherwise.” He smiled kindly.

“It was nice to meet you, Castiel.” He said as he turned to check out himself.

Castiel watched him go for a moment before he shook himself and muttered, “you too!” as an afterthought.

He walked home in a thoughtful frame of mind. His leg was bothering him today, but that was likely because his extra cushion was in the wash today and his leg was rubbing against his prosthetic more than usual. His thoughts were a muddled mix though and he was able to ignore the discomfort. 

Dean had mentioned to his brother that he was the strong, silent type? Sam had been a friend of Gadreel? He couldn’t ever remember his brother mentioning the man, though that wasn’t so strange, Gadreel was a private man. Or… he had been.

Castiel halted as the smell of warm bread hit him as he turned a corner near his house and it briefly reminded him of purchasing the item a few weeks ago with his brother. He felt tension between his brows, and a slight prickling at the corner of his eyes. The bread had smelled absolutely delicious that day, fresh baked and out of the oven not ten minutes before they had walked inside the humble building. It was one of the few times he and Gadreel had been able to make time for one another. They had been having a nice morning, joking about their childhood and enjoying each other’s company. 

Gadreel had laughed at Castiel’s wide eyed stare and twitching nose as they stepped inside the bakery. His throaty chuckle had washed over Castiel and he had smiled at the sound. Gadreel always looked so serious that it was a surprise to most that he had a very disarming laugh and a gentle demeanor about his person. He had been a good man and Castiel wished he knew him better.

Castiel was taken aback by the force of the memory. 

He felt a small tear track it’s way down his left cheek and down his neck. He wasn’t going to hear his brother’s laugh anymore, he wouldn’t go and buy bread with him again. The myriad of things his brother would never experience again started making their way through his mind. He would never marry like he had always wanted, never go shopping again, never have children, never buy his own fishing boat. Castiel would never get to open up to him about what happened to him when he was overseas. He wouldn’t ever get the opportunity to really get to know the man he had grown up with.

Castiel took a large gasping breath for air and did his best to focus. He needed to get home, he couldn’t have a breakdown in the middle of the street. He took a few slow, deep breaths before he was able to collect himself just enough to jog the rest of the way to his home. It wasn’t comfortable, he needed to be refitted for a new leg, needed to buy more cushions for the damn one he already had, but the pain was a distant sensation. His vision had become clouded with tears and it was only through muscle memory that he even made it into his house at all. He dropped his groceries at some point as he entered and he was able to spare a thought to slamming his door closed behind him.

He knew this was the moment that he had been waiting for and yet it had hit him in the face like a ton of bricks. As soon as the door closed and he made it into his kitchen his knees hit the floor and he was clutching his arms desperately to his chest. Great heaving sobs were trying to escape his throat and he finally let them. He sounded like an animal, howls of sorrow pulling their way out of his chest. 

He hadn’t realized this moment would be brought about by something as insignificant as the smell of bread coming out of a bakery. He lifted a hand to cover his mouth in an attempt to hold in his exploding emotions. It was a useless endeavor however, now that he had allowed the dam to break, his eyes were acting as a spillway for all the anguish he had kept inside for the last week. He huddled into himself and clutched desperately to his sides. Vaguely, he heard himself whispering, “no, no, no, no…” over and over again. As if that one word would spare him this heartache. 

He was having difficulty breathing and knew that he was close to hyperventilating. It was a feeling he was used too but not one he enjoyed. The good news was, that if he passed out, his breathing would at last go back to normal. And wasn’t that a cheerful thought? He was familiar enough with this situation that he knew what would happen if he couldn’t calm himself down.

He didn’t notice how long he stayed there, huddled on the floor with tears running down his face to dampen the top of his shirt. He hadn’t even managed to remove his coat before he had crumpled to the ground. The rough wool of the fabric scratched now at the over sensitive skin of his neck and he clawed at the buttons to remove the offending garment. He hurled it aside and curled himself back into a protective ball. The shivers that wracked his body had nothing to do with the chill in the apartment and he clamped his hands against his arms in an attempt to still his trembling. 

He stayed there for what felt like hours, huddled on his kitchen floor, his tears slowly drying in his eyes and it was only his heaving chest and the tightness in his throat that let him know the worst was probably over. Inside, he felt hollow now, empty. Before he had felt a dam built around his heart, holding back all emotions but now that had crumbled and he had released all the emotions that had built up in there. They’d cascaded out, tearing through the peaceful floodplain that lay around him. 

He hadn’t even known his brother, not really. But now, it felt as if he was mourning the relationship they could have had. They’d lost their mother when they were both young, and their father hadn’t ever been quite right after that. He was a hard man, and the boys grew up unfamiliar with hugs and kind words.

Castiel’s life felt like one missed opportunity after another. He never got to know his mother, his father hadn’t wanted to get to know him, he’d lost so many friends in the Middle East, and now his only brother had been taken from him. He felt like God was punishing him for something that he couldn’t remember doing. Maybe he was. 

Castiel raised a shaking hand towards his kitchen counter in an attempt to haul himself upright. His first try was unsuccessful, his hand slipped against the cold surface and he had to wipe his clammy hand against his shirt before trying again. This time he was able to get his good foot under him and stand slowly. He placed his other hand against the edge of the counter to try and balance himself while taking 3 large steadying breaths. He knew that in the long run it would be better that he had finally allowed himself to get that out, but it was hard to convince himself of that when it felt like a lead weight had settled inside his stomach.

He stumbled his way into his small bathroom and wrapped his fingers firmly around the porcelain basin of the sink. He flipped the tap with shaking fingers and allowed the cold water to flow smoothly from the faucet for a moment. Cupping his hands under the flow he splashed his face a few times. He took another deep breath before looking at himself in the mirror. 

His cheeks were flushed an unattractive pink, the area around his cheekbones red and inflamed. His normally dark blue eyes looked darker in this lighting, the whites of his eye colored a light pink and the small veins in the corners looking more pronounced. He was not an attractive crier, his eyes looked wild and morose and his mouth was set in a grim line, cutting across his face like a fissure. He sneered at his reflection in disgust. He knew he shouldn’t have looked in the mirror, he always did after crying and he never knew why. His state of distress only served to remind him how unimpressed he was with his own appearance. He used the bottom of his shirt to dab off some of the moisture from his face.

He glanced at the time on his phone that he had somehow managed not to damage during his breakdown. He was startled to see that it was already late evening. He should make an attempt to get some sleep, though he doubted it would be restful. He was feeling empty and maudlin and he knew that his dreams would be hollow and frightening.

He made his way slowly into his bedroom and settled himself against his chilled pillows. They felt damp, just like his blankets, just like his clothes, just like his couch, just like everything did since he’d moved here. He was adjusting to it slowly, but he did miss the crisp warmth of his bedroom back in New York. 

He unclipped his prosthetic and threw it haphazardly over the side of the bed. He was exhausted all of a sudden and didn’t even bother to change out of his street clothes for the day. He tried to take several deep breaths to relax his mind and hopefully allow sleep to claim him. Running his hands over his quilt, he prayed quietly for strength to any angels that were listening, including his mother. He may have lost most of his faith in God, but he still had faith in her. His eyes closed after a few minutes and he finally settled into the in-between state of sleep, where you’re neither truly asleep or awake. 

Despite the time that passed he never felt like he left that place, that was alright though, it was comforting in it’s own way. And at least he was able to skip the nightmares that often plagued him. Nightmares of fire and screams, nightmares of his time overseas. Or the new ones, nightmares of cold hands and drowning breaths.

XXX 

His alarm went off the next morning with a shrill bell. The sound made its way into his exhausted subconscious and he lay there for a moment, attempting to rouse himself enough to turn off the horrible sound. He yawned deeply, feeling a pop in his jaw as he did so. The skin around his eyes felt tight and he had a splitting headache, like he always did the day after crying. He hated this feeling, it was like being punished physically for suffering emotionally. Looking at his ceiling, he thought back again to his breakdown yesterday. Then immediately shied from the memory. 

The feeling of water pooling in his ears surprised him, apparently he had started crying again without realizing it. He let the tears come for now, he needed to get them out. He would pull himself together enough to go to work today but he doubted he would be of any use to anyone.

He finally managed to convince himself to get out of bed fifteen minutes later. He forewent his prosthetic for the moment and instead grabbed one of his elbow crutches from behind his headboard. His abused limb needed a break from the device for now. He would slip it on after his coffee. 

He made his way into his kitchen and leaned against his counter while he prepared his coffee. He sighed deeply into his mug and did his best to ignore his fatigue. He hadn’t slept well, like he had predicted. It was going to be a long shift at the gas station today. 

Movement drew his attention away from his thoughts and onto the beach out the window. He again saw a figure making its way across the sand, except this time he knew who it was before they’d come closer. He watched silently as the priest picked his way slowly across the sand. Castiel was bemused to note that the man wasn’t wearing shoes. _His feet must be freezing…_ He thought curiously about what Dean was keeping under the black of his shirt and white of his collar. 

He imagined the priest must have a fairly fit physique. The way his sleeves caught on his arms belied a type of strength that came from hard work and long hours. Castiel had the ghost sensation of warm hands rubbing against the muscles of his back and he shivered. His emotions were in overdrive and his lack of good sleep and emotional outpouring yesterday had him all turned around. He shouldn’t be getting an erection at the mental image of the priest rubbing his rough palms against his skin.

Dean must make it a habit to walk by the ocean in the mornings. Castiel supposed it could be soothing to feel the brisk air on your skin and the cool water against your toes. Thousands of miles of God’s deepest and most frightening creation spread out before you could put your life into perspective, he supposed. He shuddered at the thought. It wasn’t a perspective he was eager to pursue at the moment.

He sipped his coffee thoughtfully as he watched Dean move closer to his house and then passed. Did priests have worries plague them like the rest of the world? Did he worry? Did he stress? What did he think about in his off hours? How devout must you be to trust God to take all of your burdens? Were these types of thoughts making him a bad Catholic? Probably. Having sexually inappropriate thoughts about the priest DEFINITELY made him a bad Catholic. If Castiel was made in God’s image then God was a thirsty gay cripple with a thing for men of the cloth. He rubbed a hand against the muscles of his shoulder to work out a knot. He rolled his eyes at himself. _Definitely a bad Catholic._

XXX


	3. Chapter 3

The next Sunday dawned bitter and damp. A thick fog had rolled into the town overnight, along with a cold northern wind. The fog had also brought with it some rather grim news. There was word spreading quickly throughout the early morning light from Bridgeport that some of the wreckage had started washing ashore from the shipwreck two weeks ago. Included in this wreckage were a number of the bodies that were assumed to be lost to the sea. Some of the people from the town were rejoicing, as much as one could rejoice considering the circumstances, because it meant they would finally be able to bury their loved ones.

Castiel awoke that morning with a vague sense of unease in his chest. He hadn’t heard the news yet, but something about the air around him put him on edge. He curled himself tightly into a ball in an attempt to hold onto the warmth that he had cultivated under his blankets. It was an effort in futility however, because now that he was awake, he felt the cold settling into his bones as it often did. He sighed and went about his morning routine, lost in his thoughts. He was glad that it was Sunday and he would be able to attend Mass with the rest of the townspeople. He appreciated the sense of community it fostered. He had realized with a start just the day before that he’d been lonely. Truly lonely and it made him crave an ear to turn. Maybe he would take Dean up on his offer, if not to give him his burdens, then perhaps just to speak with someone warm and inviting.

He glanced out his window, looking for the priest’s tall frame as he mused on him. His broad form had become a constant during his mornings now, and Castiel had felt a calming warmth spread through him as he had sipped his coffee and watched the priest contemplate the sea. There was no sign of him this morning however, he was likely busy preparing his sermon for the day. The town still needed the hope he offered, it was a lot of responsibility. Castiel turned his back from the window, suddenly uneasy with just the ocean to look at outside.

He added an extra layer to his normal clothes for the day, he could tell how cold it was outside, by how chilly it was inside his home. He decided that since he was up a little earlier today then he would get a hot chocolate down the street instead of his usual kitchen coffee. The feeling in his chest was letting him know that caffeine wouldn’t benefit him today. It had been months since his last panic attack but he didn’t need to tempt the fates. 

On his way down the street and towards the Starbucks on the corner, he caught the tail end of a hushed conversation. He peeked around the corner of a large brick building and saw his nervous neighbor speaking with one of the town’s few police officers. His neighbor's anxious hands were clasped tightly in front of himself and he was looking up with anxious eyes at the stoic officer. 

Two sets of eyes shot towards him when he approached and his neighbor relaxed marginally when he came into view. The officer straightened up further and set his mouth into a grim line. Castiel raised his eyebrows politely in question when he reached the two men. He would have rather gone around them but it would have looked too obvious that he was avoiding them.

“Good morning, Mr. Shurley.” Castiel smiled at the smaller man before him. “Officer.” And inclined his head to the taller one.

“Good morning, Castiel…” Mr. Shurley hesitantly said to him. His eyes shifted to the police officer at his elbow uneasily. “Please, call me Chuck. Uh, Castiel… Would you perhaps… would you like to have a seat?” Shurley gestured towards a worn bench sitting against the brick facade of the building at his back.

Castiel frowned at him in confusion. “No thank you. I’m alright...``He turned curious eyes on the officer next to him as the man cleared his throat gently.

“Mr. Novak,” he began carefully. “Have you heard any news from Bridgeport this morning?”

Castiel was surprised by the questions. Bridgeport? What on Earth could be happening there that would require his attention.

“No, sir…” he offered slowly.

The officer took a large breath and exhaled quickly. “This morning, some of the wreckage from the Lacey washed ashore near Bridgeport.” He paused here to gauge Castiel’s reaction. Seemingly nonplussed he continued on, “Among the debris were… some of the crew.” 

Castiel’s eyes widened at that. He blinked a couple of times as his mind started whirring impossibly fast. The men before him watched silently and waited for him to say or do something to indicate that he had heard. He took another moment to collect himself before he responded.

“My-my brother…?”

The officer shook his head once. “No... Unfortunately, he hasn’t been recovered yet. We just wanted to make you aware of what was happening.” He reached out a hand tentatively and patted Castiel’s shoulder briefly. Castiel willed himself to stay still at the attempt at comfort. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Novak.”

With that the officer strode quickly towards a squad car, off to inform another family, he assumed. Castiel turned shocked eyes on his neighbor. The little man was worrying his hands and seemed incapable of meeting his eyes. Castiel set his jaw resolutely, before pulling his shoulders back.

“Excuse me, Mr. Shurley, I was on my way to St. Jude’s.” He turned on his heel and walked quickly in the opposite direction. Behind him, he heard Chuck Shurley’s faint voice drift towards him.

“Please, call me Chuck…”

Castiel allowed the bitterness of the air to whip at his cheeks, soothing his tempestuous thoughts. He wondered how many of the crew they’d recovered. What families would now have closure? Who was going to be able to bury their loved ones? They hadn’t found his brother… yet. They would probably never find him. The ocean was so large and the creatures inside so ravenous that he doubted there would be much left of his body if it hadn’t shown up by now. That thought paused him in his tracks. He was about a block from the church and he felt a tightening in his chest. Body… Body… His brother was only a body now. He didn’t live inside the meat and bones that constituted his earthly existence anymore. Castiel shuddered at the thought that the meat and bones were probably inside the bellies of some horrible sea creature, or more than one sea creature more likely. 

The tightening in his chest was starting to feel oppressive, restricting his airflow. He felt tears at the corners of his eyes as he made a frantic grab at his chest. He couldn’t breathe, oh God, he couldn’t breathe. He reached a hand out to the building beside him and grabbed at his throat with the other. His morbid thoughts had dwindled to the back of his mind as he couldn’t seem to pull in enough air to form them anymore. His vision was clouding, probably from the tears pouring down his face. A blackness was creeping towards him on both sides and he thought frantically that the sun had just risen, how had it become night already? 

The minutes seemed to stretch on into eternity for Castiel. He had managed to wedge his shoulder against the building beside him, which had kept him from collapsing. His bad leg was shaking violently and he was worried that the weakened joint wouldn’t be able to support his weight for much longer. So much for avoiding the panic attack this morning. He blinked rapidly and did his best to ignore the sensation of cold fingers clawing at his throat and the imagined sound of screams from bodies on fire. 

_Come on, come on, you’re okay. You’re okay!_ He thought to himself furiously.

After several minutes, he had finally managed to turn his thoughts towards his breathing. He had done this how many times before, dammit, he knew what was happening to him. It had taken him by surprise, sure, but he could handle it. He focused his mind acutely to the task at hand, deep breath in through the nose and a deep breath out through the mouth. The street in front of him finally started swimming into view. He wiped the heel of one hand against his eyes in an attempt to clear his face of the damned tears he couldn’t seem to stop shedding. Come on, Castiel, he thought to himself desperately. 

Pull yourself together, you’re standing in the middle of town for everyone to see. This is not the kind of man you were born to be, you’re a soldier, not some damsel in distress. 

He took a final deep breath in and pushed against the wall next to him. His stance was shaky for a moment but he lifted his head and steadied himself. He knew that his cheeks and eyes were red, knew that he looked like an absolute mess, but he had meant it to himself, he was a soldier. Taking slow steps, he finally rounded the corner to St. Jude’s, the church's simple stained glass windows eased the rest of his panic. The image of Judas Thaddeus looked out at him from his place inside the large window of the church. The flame above his head licked towards the dove that flew above him and he allowed the image of that patient saint to calm him. He may be losing his faith, but the knowledge that Father Winchester was inside this building filled him with stillness.

Castiel made his way inside the simple building and took his customary seat on the left hand side about 5 rows back from the front. He sat quietly, willing away the redness in his face and letting his thoughts wander back to his brother. He was lost to the sea, he had known that. The news this morning didn’t change anything. His body was not his soul, it was simply the housing. And his brother didn’t live in that house anymore. He repeated that thought to himself a few more times, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease with each repetition. The pain and grief he was feeling were at his loss, not Gadreel’s. All of his worries and pain were released along with his soul. He wondered idly if he believed that Gadreel went to Heaven. Did he still believe in Heaven? After all the horrors he had seen, it would be nice to imagine a perfect home at the end of this long life. 

He wanted to believe. But did he?

Around him, the church filled with parishioners. The congregation was restless this morning. Castiel wondered how many of them had received news from an officer of their own early this morning. He took a moment to sweep his eyes around at his brothers and sisters. Some eyes were dry, some poured tears, still others were red-rimmed and puffy. Castiel knew which category he fell into as he raised his chilled fingers to his warm cheeks. They must still be red, because the heat radiating off of them warmed his digits. He swallowed convulsively and looked towards the front of the church. he wondered what Dean would speak of today. Had he received news of the Lacey this morning as well?

Movement beside him drew his attention and he felt himself stiffen as a body seated itself next to him. He cast his eyes sideways and noticed the suited form of Sam Winchester settling himself into the pew. Castiel frowned at the man, he knew that he would come to church on Sundays, his brother was the priest for God’s sake. But, he couldn’t ever remember seeing him before. Next to Sam, Castiel saw tiny black shoes swinging in the air off the pew and further down, the delicate fabric of a dress draped over a woman’s knee. 

_Must be Sam’s family._ Castiel thought idly. Sam turned to him and nodded politely but other than that, made no attempt to communicate. That was just as well, because at that moment Dean walked into the room from a side door and made his way up to the front. 

He spread his hands outward to the people assembled before him, “ In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” 

The crowd answered with a single, “Amen.” As they spoke they made a cross across their fronts.

Castiel released the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and allowed his thoughts to drift away from him. He listened to Dean’s strong voice, like whiskey poured over ice, and allowed it to soothe his frayed nerves. He had needed this, needed to hear a sermon spoken with warmth and reverence. He focused on the order of Mass and let the familiarity of it settle his rolling stomach. He took Communion with a calm mind and enjoyed the bitter taste of the wine.

Beside him, Sam Winchester was a strong presence. It was strange to take comfort in the being of a stranger but there it was. He watched from the corner of his eye as Sam signed the sermon to his wife. He hadn’t realized she was deaf, but he didn’t know much about anyone in this town. He had separated himself from most of them since he’d gotten here. Castiel hadn’t really spoken to anyone in weeks. His short conversations with Dean and the awkward pleasantries he exchanged at the gas station not filling the social void in his chest. Maybe he was just desperate for some company. He had always considered himself a fairly solitary person, but maybe no man was truly an island. 

It was at the end of the service, before the Concluding Rite that Dean finally addressed the news that the town had received. His back was turned to the congregation and Castiel watched the lines of his shoulders tense slightly and straighten before he turned back to the assembled crowd. 

“Brothers and sisters,” He began quietly. His voice carried easily inside the church, Castiel was always impressed with how well he could hear him without him having to raise his voice. “Psalms tells us that God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in struggle. We have struggled,” He paused here to look out at his flock, “we continue to struggle and we may always struggle with our pain and our grief and our sorrow. We have lost husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons in the wreck of the Lacey. We have received news this morning that has freshened the wounds in our hearts that their loss has caused. I see the sorrow in your hearts written on your faces this morning and it saddens me to see you so burdened. I urge you, however, to allow this news to ease your grief. We will be able to put to rest the bodies of those who have come ashore. And for those who have not, rest assured that their souls no longer reside inside their mortal bodies. No, the eternal souls of our loved ones have carried on into the Kingdom of Heaven, free of the trials of our mortal existence. They have found their peace with our Father and await us to greet them at the end of our time here.”

Dean stopped here to lower his eyes to his hands that were now clasped in front of him. Silence filled the air inside the church and the handsome priest let it linger for a short time. “Allow God to ease your burdens, brothers and sisters. He will take all that you give him and will never complain of the weight. You may speak with me as well, I am always at your disposal as a man of God and as a friend and neighbor.” He lifted his head again, making eye contact with as many in the audience as time allowed. From here, he moved smoothly into the Concluding Rites.

The final words of the dismissal rang quietly in Castiel’s ears. He had wanted to speak with Dean after the service but was finding his nerve lacking now that the time had come. He watched a number of women and men make their way to him, thanking him, asking for advice, trying to soak up some of his solid strength. He wondered where his hesitance was stemming from. He had never had a problem speaking with him before this moment. Maybe he was embarrassed to need his help finally. He considered him a friend, rather than a stranger, so perhaps that was where the discomfort came.  
Sam turned to him as his wife and son prepared to leave. “It’s nice to see you, Castiel.” He said quietly. 

Castiel nodded to him with a half-smile. But, true to his word, Sam didn’t push him or force him into conversation. That was just as well, because Castiel didn’t know what to say to the man, or to his wife and child for that matter. It was nice to be addressed though. He watched sadly as Sam waved briskly to his brother before walking out of the back of the church. 

Castiel mused quietly to himself as he waited for the shepherd to finish tending to his sheep. Finally, Dean’s eyes alighted upon his still form and he made his way towards Castiel. The church was mostly empty now, the few stragglers standing near the doors at the rear, talking amongst themselves. Dean came to sit next to him, as he had done the week before. This time however, his eyes were trained on his face as he sat, his body angled slightly in the pew to face him more fully. They sat in silence for a moment, waiting to see if the other would speak first.

“So, this is sort of an odd request but you strike me as an odd sort of guy…” Dean began.

XXX


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel felt his brows mash together in confusion as he turned towards Dean when he spoke.

“But, I was w-wondering if you’d like to have a drink with me?” The priest blushed slightly and scrunched up his nose, as if that wasn’t what he had wanted to say. “T-tea, coffee, whiskey?” He finished with a soft smile on his face. His entire demeanor was warm and inviting and Castiel felt himself relax into it. A drink sounded exactly like what he needed today. He nodded to him once with a smile in acquiescence. 

Dean rose smoothly and extended a hand towards him to lift him to his feet. Castiel considered taking it, but he rose to his feet unassisted. He had gotten used to people wanting to help him after he’d come back to the States, but his pride would always be his downfall. Dean seemed unconcerned that he hadn’t accepted his assistance and merely stood patiently to the side and waited for Castiel to exit the pew. He led him towards the small side door he had entered to get to the main church. Castiel followed curiously, he had never been back here before, he had assumed though it was where his office was located. They left the warmth of the church proper and entered a small hallway that was dimly lit.

There were two doors on the right hand side and one on the left at the end of the hall. They passed the first door and Castiel peeked inside as they made their way down the hall. The door was open and it seemed to be storage for some of the holiday and seasonal decorations along with some other odds and ends. Castiel’s attention was drawn by Dean pulling open the second door on the right and stepping inside quietly. He followed soon after and looked around the room with barely contained interest. Dean stood to one side, holding the door open for him with a small smile on his handsome face. 

This room was definitely his office. A large desk took up the far wall with a few papers strewn across it. A large paperweight in the shape of a squirrel stood to the side and the corner of his mouth quirked up at it. A well-loved couch was set against the left wall, it’s pattern long since faded but it looked comfortable, he had to admit. To the right a couple of large armchairs stood next to a small fireplace with a circular table set between them. The room radiated coziness and Castiel felt instantly relaxed. He took another step inside, enough for Dean to close the door, and waited for direction from him. 

Taking note of his hesitation, Dean gestured towards the armchairs near the fireplace. Castiel smiled at him gratefully and took the leftmost chair. Dean excused himself to another room, presumably for their drinks and Castiel took advantage of his absence to look around the room more closely. It felt lived in and comfortable. The man certainly didn’t live with much wealth, not any he chose to flash around anyway. Most everything he owned seemed to be second-hand, but well-taken care of and he felt a stab of affection for the priest. 

He'd met him just over a month ago, when he had been barely moved into the town. He had taken his time exploring the city on foot so he could get a feel for the place and had stumbled upon St. Jude’s by accident. Gadreel had mentioned it to him before he had moved, but Castiel hadn’t ever planned on visiting it. It was a humble building both inside and out but it held a quiet reverence and a charm he had liked almost instantly. He hadn’t stayed to speak with the priest the first time he had gone, but Dean had sought him out on his second visit. He had made it a point to introduce himself since he knew that Castiel was new to the town. It had been a kind gesture and Castiel had taken an instant liking to the priest. The fact that he was the most staggeringly beautiful thing Castiel had ever seen didn’t hurt either. 

A picture near the fireplace mantle drew his attention and he rose from his seat to inspect it. The image showed a much younger Dean in fatigues. There were two men next to him, dressed similarly and each held a rifle loosely in their hands. They were smiling and had their free arms around the shoulders of the man next to them. It was a light-hearted picture and Castiel smiled at the young men’s easy smiles. Dean was missing the scar that ran across his nose and down his cheek in the photograph, this was from happier times then, he mused.

The clinking of cups on a metal tray drew his attention and he turned from the picture to inspect the priest. His face held a more pinched look than the man in the photograph and he felt the corners of his mouth pull down. Happier times indeed, then. Dean noticed where he stood and his eyes alighted on the photograph behind him. His eyes tightened briefly but he finished making his way into the room and placed the tray on the small circular table between their chairs. Castiel seated himself back in his chair and Dean sat across from him. He hadn’t spoken yet and Castiel worried that he had offended him with his snooping.

He poured out a cup of tea carefully, not wanting to spill the precious liquid. He opened the container housing the sugar and looked at Castiel in question. He nodded tightly and he poured a small amount into the cup before stirring it delicately. He did the same with a small bottle of whiskey and Castiel nodded to that as well. I’ve definitely offended him, Castiel thought grumpily. 

Dean poured himself a measure of whiskey into his own cup, more than he had given Castiel. “I fucking hate tea. But, this makes it almost drinkable.” Dean said with a wink. 

Castiel startled at Dean’s profanity. The man was a priest, but he supposed he was still human.. Still, though, that was quite a word to drop casually in conversation. He wondered what else Dean might let slip in the heat of the moment…

Dean cast an eye over his shoulder before turning back to their cups. “That photograph was taken right before we boarded a plane to Iraq.” Dean sat back in his seat with his cup. “The kid in the middle died 2 weeks after it was taken.” Dean sipped his tea, eyes trained on the tray in front of him.

Castiel turned surprised eyes to him. “You were in the Middle East?” He asked stupidly.

Dean nodded to him, eyes finally moving off the tray and to Castiel. “I finished my studies in seminary school and was ordained shortly after, I was set to take charge of a church near my family’s home. Then… I was asked by a friend to go with him to enlist, a real goofball kid, ya know?… But, I was… I th-thought I was filled with a divine purpose at hearing his impassioned plea... Keep in mind, I had JUST been ordained. The timing couldn’t have felt more perfect. Couple that with my desire to go out and DO something with myself, well… recipe for d-disaster. So, I went with him the next day and from then it was only a matter of time before we made our way to Iraq to help the people earn their freedom, or whatever it was they told us.” 

He leaned his head back against his chair. His throat worked convulsively, and Castiel watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down a few times. “My mother had begged me to reconsider, pleaded with me not to go. My dad had convinced her to calm down, he was a Marine from back in the day. I placated them, telling them the Lord had given me a mission to complete, to help my brothers-in-arms. My mother was the true Catholic in the family, that reasoning worked pretty well on her. I’ll never forget the look in my little brother’s eyes when I told him though. Jesus, it was like being stabbed in the gut. Kid always did know how to tug on the heartstrings.”

Dean took another pause here, trying to collect himself. Castiel had not expected this when he had come in here to speak with him, but he found himself enraptured with the story, unable to pull away from the man in front of him. He didn’t realize he had leaned so far forward in his chair until his knee bumped against the tray on the table. The tinkling of the porcelain drew Dean’s attention back to the present and he looked over at him sadly. 

“I eventually made it home...” he said looking in his eyes, “I’m not sure what I left behind there, but I don’t think all of me made it back.” 

Castiel recoiled slightly at the raw sorrow reflected in his eyes. What horrors must this man have seen to haunt his eyes that way? He wondered if his own eyes reflected something similar. He knew that Dean hosted a grief support group in town. Gadreel had attended some of the meetings, he knew. He hadn’t ever attended, but he hadn’t realized that Dean was among the ranks of the grieving. He wondered what other secrets lay behind the man’s charming smile and green eyes. After a staggering moment of eye contact, Dean finally blinked and lowered his head. Castiel reached across the expanse between them and brushed his fingers lightly over his knuckles. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

Dean smiled softly at him. “It’s been a long t-time since I’ve t-talked about that, thank you..”

Castiel smiled faintly at him and settled again in his chair. They sat in a semi-comfortable silence for a time, both lost to their own musings. Castiel was thinking about his own friends, brothers-in-arms that he had lost and he could only guess at what Dean was thinking, but he doubted it was happy.

“I was there too…” Castiel said quietly.

“I know.” Dean responded with a twist to his mouth. “I knew the moment I saw you. Everyone wears trauma differently,” he ran a finger across the scar on his cheek. “Sometimes it shows physically, but you can always see it if you’re looking.”

Castiel rested a hand against his bad leg and frowned in thought. What did trauma look like? How did someone wear it? Was it in the way they held their shoulders, the look in their eye? An energy they gave off? He didn’t know, but he supposed Dean was right. There was something palpable about the air around someone who had experienced something tragic. Something you could sense at your core. The two let quiet steal over them for a few minutes. 

Dean broke the silence eventually, “Was there any news…” He let the rest of the sentence trail off, Castiel caught his meaning.

“N-no. An officer stopped by this morning to tell me that a number of the crew had been recovered. My brother was not among them…” Castiel placed his cup down on the tray in front of him, he was afraid he would spill the rest of his beverage since his hands had started shaking.

Dean noticed the change in his hands and nodded slowly. “Shit Cas, I’m sorry.. But, like I said, our bodies only contain the likeness of our souls. He’s moved on from this place.” He stopped when he noticed the tears that were forming in his eyes. He reached across to lay a hand across his wrist. “Cas…”

Castiel nodded mutely to him to indicate that he was listening. “I-I know. I was thin-thinking something similar this morning. I was only surprised…” he wiped quickly at his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m not normally this weepy.”

Dean said nothing but gave his wrist a comforting squeeze before pulling away. He allowed him to pull himself together for a moment before he spoke again. “My younger brother, Sammy, dated Gadreel a number of years ago.”

Castiel pulled back slightly, shocked by this.

Dean nodded sagely. “It was long before you had come to town, and it wasn’t ever anything serious. They were just kids at the time. But… I know you wanted to get to know Gadreel better and now… Well, all I’m saying is that there are people in town who knew Gadreel and I guarantee they would be happy to tell you about him. He was a good man, I was proud to call him a friend.” He pulled back to lean against his chair and watch Castiel carefully.

Castiel wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. He had known that Gadreel was bisexual, that hadn’t ever been a secret. But, it shocked him to know that the town’s priest was apparently very unconcerned with homosexuality in practice. Dean continued to surprise him, he was unconventional to put it lightly, so maybe he should stop making assumptions about the other man. He realized his hands were still shaking and he clasped his fingers tightly together in his lap. “Thank you, Dean.” The words were almost whispered but Dean seemed to accept them with grace and gave him a half-smile. 

He picked his cup back up and sipped it quietly. Castiel followed suit after a time and the two finished their afternoon in a comfortable silence.

XXX


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel was dreaming of gentle smiles and warm hands when the howling of the wind broke into his peaceful dream world. A storm was moving it’s way in and the sound of it lashing against his windows disturbed him. He tossed and turned for a while before he was able to slip more fully under Morpheus’s spell. His pleasant dream faded to the background of his mind now and a new dream took its place. This one was full of pale, clammy hands reaching up, up, up but never passing out of the darkness that surrounded them. Their nails had turned blue and the skin around them was puffy and bloated. Castiel soon realized that he and the hands were underwater. He clawed desperately at his throat knowing that he was running out of air. He swam desperately in the direction he thought was up, but he was surrounded by blackness on all sides and he couldn’t be sure he was going the right way. Every time he started to make some head way those hideous hands would grip him around his ankle and pull him back. He shuddered in disgust at the disembodied fingers and fought harder against their hold. 

He was feeling desperate now. He was running out of air! He needed to breathe! He turned this way and that and fought against the rotting fingers of the dead around him. He knew he was crying but his tears simply floated away from him on the ocean currents. This was it, this was how he was going to die! To his right he thought he saw the swollen face of his brother, mouth open in a scream. His eyes widened in terror as the long arm of an octopus snaked its way out of Gadreel’s open mouth. 

Castiel was awoken by a sharp pain in his elbow. He looked around frantically, his eyes searching the area for the hands his nightmare had produced. His breathing was coming in ragged pants and his heart felt as if it were trying to work it’s way out of his chest by force alone. Wide eyes fell to where his legs lay, searching for any offending appendages that didn’t belong. He was laying across the floor of his bedroom with his sheets wrapped tightly around his legs. He leaned his head back against the floor and willed his heart to slow down as he took several large breaths in and out. He must have hit his elbow on the floor which was what had woke him, he was thankful that something had. As he lay there he thought back to the nightmare he’d just woken from, it was certainly more visceral than anything he’d dreamt in a long time. The meaning was simple enough to grasp, his mind had been plagued with thoughts of the shipwreck almost every waking moment. Why shouldn’t his dreams be plagued as well? 

After a time, once his heart and breathing settled, he decided to sit up. His body felt like it’d been hit by a train, his limbs were stiff and unresponsive. He must have been tensing his muscles as he’d slept. He shook his arms out, and willed feeling back into them. He pulled his legs out of his sheets, shivering at the feeling of the cold air of his house as it touched the bare skin. He looked at the ruined waste of his right leg. The knee on that side was a mass of scar tissue, making the joint tight and inflexible. 

He reached down and ran his fingers lightly over the skin. It was smooth and warped, hair didn’t grow there any longer and the pores had been burned away. He wrapped his finger loosely around the nub a few inches from the bottom of his knee. He could remember what it felt like to have skin there, muscle, bone. It had taken him a long time to come to terms with his body as it was now. He had fought against the knowledge that he had lost a part of what had made him HIM. Dean had said that not all trauma was physical, but you wore it regardless. Did he wear his, or was this the only sign of what had happened to him?

He glanced to his left leg and ran the pads of his fingers lightly over the tattoo that ran horizontally across his calf. The symbols were the name “CASSIEL” written in an old hermetic script. He had been named for the angel, Cassiel, Speed of God, by his mother. When he was in high school, he’d gotten the tattoo when he had turned eighteen. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, he was the star of the track team and had needed to give his father the finger somehow. 

It was funny now, considering that not only had the angel’s name not protected him, but he also wasn’t the “speed” of anything any longer, God or otherwise. How long had it been since he’d run for fun? Likely before he’d even enlisted. It used to bring him so much joy. When had that stopped? 

He sighed at his dramatic thoughts and ran his hands roughly through his dark hair. He was going to need a haircut soon. He blew the air from his lungs loudly and leveraged himself upright. He put his bed things back together before making his way towards a shower. He needed a long soak and a longer blowjob. He’d have to settle for the shower though.

XXX 

He settled himself on his couch after his shower, flinching as the cold, damp material touched the back of his neck. He shot a dirty look at the radiator that sat in the corner of the room. It was silent at the moment, which meant it probably wasn’t working. He sighed loudly and pulled a small throw over his legs. Panic attacks be damned, he needed coffee today. He was struggling to stay awake as it was and he’d only been out of bed for an hour.

Work moved slowly for him that day, his attention faded in and out as he greeted customers and sold items. He had to chastise himself more than once and remind himself to focus on what he was doing. His sleep deprived brain was pulling uncomfortable and troublesome thoughts to the forefront of his mind and it was driving him to distraction. By the end of the day he was completely exhausted and looking forward to that evening. He didn’t normally visit the church on Wednesdays, but Dean was listening to Confession today and he decided he needed to see him. _Just for a few moments…_ he thought to himself. _Spending some time in the church should ease my mind before bed._ At least this was what he told himself as he gathered his things to leave.

Dean was just exiting the adjacent hall that held his office when Castiel entered the building. He smiled fondly at him when he saw him closing the door behind him. Dean made his way towards Castiel with his hands held loosely at his sides and a crinkle in the corners of his eyes. Castiel returned his smile with one of his own.

“Hello, Castiel.” Dean greeted when he had reached him. Castiel immediately chastised himself for the fluttering in his stomach he got from hearing the priest say his name. 

Dean looked around himself at the empty pews before turning back to him. “You’re early for confession.”

Castiel shrugged slightly. “I uh, hadn’t planned on confessing today to be truthful. My mind is… in some turmoil and I thought visiting the church would help to soothe my nerves.”

Dean nodded sagely at him and gestured towards the nearest pew with a gentle sweep of his hand. “Make yourself at home,” was all he said.

Castiel seated himself carefully in the pew. He hadn’t expected Dean to stay so he was surprised when the other man lingered for a moment before sitting. He kept her eyes trained on his lap as Dean settled himself next to him. He watched him shift nervously out of the corner of his eye before he stilled. They sat quietly for a time before Dean prompted him gently.

“When the stars threw down their spears, and watered heaven with their tears, did He smile his work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee?” Dean said quietly with his eyes cast forwards.

Castiel frowned and turned to him in confusion. He was quoting something, but it didn’t sound like Scripture. He waited for him to continue with a raised eyebrow.

“Blake.” He said simply. “One of the greatest poets to ever live.” He gave him a rueful smile here. “There are many interpretations of the poem, naturally, and that was only a stanza of the whole. The first line likely references the fall of Lucifer. After that… well, I like to think that it questions whether the Lord created life on Earth as well as Jesus and the Host. Was he proud to see what He had made? Or was He pissed to see what he had wrought with His hands?” Here, Dean straightened his back and he heard a faint pop as the man’s spine lengthened. 

“In my life whenever I’m having a hard time… I’m always reminded of that stanza and it makes me feel better to know that I was made in the image of my Father. The conflict I feel is something He may also have felt and that it’s a natural part of our life here on Earth. I try to allow myself to accept the feelings and once I’ve analyzed their source I can either send them to Him or reconcile them within myself. Life is fucking hard, there’s no need to make it harder.”

Dean turned kind eyes to Castiel after this and smiled at him softly. “I apologize for rambling, you probably came here for some peace.” He made to stand here and Castiel shot a hand out quickly to still him. Dean paused in a half crouch and looked to him in confusion.

“Thank you….” he said softly. “Please… please stay.” Dean nodded to him once and reseated himself. They were silent again while Castiel mulled over what he had said. 

“You confuse me.” He said suddenly.

Dean turned to him with a twinkle in his eye. “Mm?”

Castiel hadn’t meant to say that. Wasn’t sure what he had actually meant to say. Everything about Dean seemed to confound and confuse him. He went right instead of left, said this instead of that. He didn’t know what to make of the man.

“You think I’m weird.” Dean said and then barked out a laugh. 

Castiel’s eyes widened in shock. “No! No! That isn’t- I didn’t-” Castiel was spluttering to try and cover himself. How did he keep putting his foot in his mouth around this man!

Dean waved him off and gave him a roguish wink. “Yeah, I am, s'alright. It’s a blessing that my thoughts are kept between the big guy and myself. You’d be ashamed of some of the things that cross my mind on a daily basis.” He grinned broadly at Castiel. “But, I imagine you meant the fact that I cuss like a sailor and drink whiskey after Mass?”

Castiel blushed furiously at being called out like this. He nodded mutely in response and felt his face flame. 

Dean gave him a crooked grin before turning back towards the Crucifix at the front of the church. “I suppose I’m unconventional by normal standards. I lived a hard life as a kid and a harder one as an adult. I’m not perfect, but none of my parishioners are either. In my mind… Well, it makes it easier to relate.” 

He paused and wrinkled his nose. Castiel was surprised to notice something in the man’s demeanor change. He usually came across as very proper carefully spoken, but recently he had been more open with Castiel. Speaking more plainly and casually. Why hadn’t he noticed before now? Certainly he didn’t speak like this with the rest of congregation?

“I ask forgiveness everyday for the way I am, and I know I’ll have to keep asking until they put me in the ground.” Dean said with a smirk.

“I think you’re great the way you are!” Castiel said quickly and then immediately slammed his eyes shut. _Fuck, shit, dammit, fuck! I can’t believe I just said that… My brain isn’t even connected to my mouth, holy shit!_

Dean chuckled good-naturedly. “You’re one in a million, Cas. Don’t ever change.”

Castiel blushed at the use of a nickname and the compliment. He glanced sheepishly at the priest but, Dean had his eyes trained to the front of the church. Castiel was fascinated in mapping the direction of the crinkled lines coming from Dean’s eyes as he smiled and the freckles that spilled across his nose. Even the sharp line of the scar across his face drew him in. He wanted to know more about Dean, wanted to know everything about the strange man. He had a strange feeling in his stomach that was telling him he’d walk through Hell if Dean asked him too. 

He blanched silently.

He was in trouble.

XXX


End file.
